Conquering the Loss
By Amy Smith
4/22/05
It begins simple enough. A forgotten name, a missed turn, a lot of notes, and for my Dad it was retelling the same old stories, over and over. That is how my family’s journey into Alzheimer’s began back in 1995. In fact, my Dad went for two years and the only person who noticed or would acknowledge the changes was my Mom. The rest of the family simply minimized what was happening. Dad had become a master of compensation. The Alzheimer’s Association refers to this as STAGE 1 of a four-stage process. My family referred to it as the Stage of Denial.
Stage 2 began in 1997 when the signs of this progressive disease became undeniable even to my Dad. Dad was not only experiencing memory loss during this two-year time span; he also was no longer able to perform daily activities without my mother’s assistance. For example, at the beginning of this stage Dad had trouble working the seatbelt of a car by the end of this stage he had forgotten he even knew how to drive. It was at the beginning of this stage that Dad was diagnosed with dementia, and by the end of this stage we surmised it was Alzheimer’s. With this diagnosis came a great deal of fear, sadness and anger for everyone. Every inability for Dad brought a new dependence on Mom. With dependence came responsibility. With responsibility came anger. We tried to combat the anger with knowledge. Our new mission was to learn as much about the disease as possible. And so for the family Stage 2 became the Stage of Anger but we came out swinging and ready to fight.
We began Stage 3, in 1999, grieving a Dad that no longer recognized his daughters and we ended it a year and a half later, grieving that we no longer recognized Dad. Dad’s judgment and language abilities were seriously impaired. He had difficulty communicating and he was completely dependent on others. These demands pushed the family to seek outside help. As with others in my parents’ generation, this was a very difficult thing to do. We were grateful though to those that did help. The home health care workers that we encountered did an outstanding job. And if it weren’t for the progression of a relentless disease we might have won the battle. But we soon learned this was not going to be a fair fight. Dad’s personality and behavior changed dramatically because of Alzheimer’s. The happy man we had always known was now frequently agitated. And the perfect sleeper was now up all night. These changes along with others reluctantly forced us to concede: Dad needed full time, dementia specific care. We found that care at a private house. It was the best fit for our family because their style of care was most consistent with what we tried to give at home. Also, the home like atmosphere just made the transition that much easier for Dad and the family. So in the midst of Stage 3, the stage my family called the Stage of Helplessness, came some much needed relief. Professional 24 hour care did not stop the disease or its effects, however. Despite our efforts, the disease was winning the war.
We became well immersed into the throngs of Stage 4 Alzheimer’s in 2001. It seemed there were few abilities left to lose. There were very few words. There were very few glimpses of the Dad we once knew. However, it was our journey with Dad through those other stages that taught us how to find him. I would see him through a familiar smile. Other days, it would be through a scratch of his head or a familiar tone. At first we were overwhelmed by what we no longer saw and then we were truly grateful for a glimpse. It’s those glimpses that sustained us. It’s those glimpses, which kept us visiting Dad everyday. And with each visit, because we were no longer bogged down in the day-to-day struggles of caregiving, we learned to embrace the grief. With that embrace, we began to receive the gift of peace. A peace we’d been praying and searching for throughout this journey. A peace that could only be found through that difficult embrace. And so for our family, Stage 4 was the Stage of Peace. This truly was a Divine gift. For it was then that we could discern that despite the battles we may have lost to Alzheimer’s, we know in our hearts it did not win the war. This war was fought and won with love; a love that had been woven through 56 years of marriage, through a lifetime of fatherhood, and throughout every stage of Alzheimer’s. And it was this love that we used to usher Dad into God’s loving arms just two weeks ago. You see we proved, it is just as the old saying goes, “Love does Conquer All”, even Alzheimer’s.
A Smith
